Everything to Nothing
by And The Adversary Succeeds
Summary: Post SCIV: Weakened, though not destroyed, a last ditch attempt at preservation by Soul Edge culminates in the scattering of shards. Now, the pieces move by an unseen hand, and whispers of a host rise in the shadows. The new war begins. OCs


_Okay, this takes place after the events of Soul Calibur IV – despite V coming out this very month, this will have nothing to do with what events I know will transpire or have transpired canonically between games and so on. This does include OCs, which is sort of a staple of most of my fanfics. I would actually like some constructive criticism, if anyone has any to offer. In any case, I hope any readers enjoy._

_I do not own Soul Calibur or any of its underlying trademarks, and do not profit from this. There. Be happy._

1: A Servant, Alone

She could not remember when the dreams had come, but they stuck out in her shattered mind as if the most glaring of deformities. They were not cold and empty, but filled with warmth. The churning heat of thought- something very near, and very dear, to one's own soul. Her memories fluttered about the great, broken cataclysm of her own mind. Rarely coming when called, and rarely even petitioned to do so. Memories were meaningless to her, for they were the aspects of self. Products and parts of an independent being attached to their humanity. She was not an independent person. She had tried to be, once. She had even reached out to her humanity, though whittled away at as it was. The only possible outcome of breaking from the norm was what it should have been: disaster.

She had completely abandoned those parts of herself, though it would not wind up being necessary. Her mind – or, the remnants of it, anyway – was obliterated eventually by a catastrophe few could have ever imagined. And so, out of one mind was born two. If anything had been left of her beforehand, then there was even less of it now, if any. Few would scarcely even begin to call these "beings" anything more than fragments. Mere semblances of a mortal mind. Some, on the other hand, might argue that it was instead a far purer form of the human consciousness. In any case, no matter how one saw it, she was entirely devoid of many of the things which people believed made one a human being.

She cared for little other than slaughter. Her servitude to her master had been forged from a near inability to live for herself and a deep-seated desire to kill. Compassion, and all emotions akin to it, had been cast away early in her life, and as she had continued down this dark path it only led her further into mad emptiness. The rush she obtained from killing made her feel alive in much the same way another may when close to someone they love. Pain filled the void of emptiness – but that pain was rarely her own. The only screams to escape her lips were the ecstatic howls of adrenaline-drunk pleasure overwhelming her as she made a kill. She fed off their terror, and drank up every second of her victims' death throes until finally relishing their eyes turning dark.

It seemed to be some time after her return to Ostrheinsburg, when the pieces were all to be coming together, again, for a final blow against Soul Calibur. She hardly slept in her hectic life, and when rest did come it interrupted her broken waking hours with the swirling hurricane of violent rage and twisted jollity in far purer forms. When she awoke she would remember none of it, and the two dominant psyches took the reigns to do as they pleased in their master's name. But things had begun to change. At first it was merely the introduction of a foreign murmur- perhaps some sound from outside. One of the fortress' other inhabitants. She would awake in a startled fit, clawed gauntlets tensely gripping the edge of Eiserne Drossel, eyes wide and senses alert as she prepared for any sudden strikes. Nothing would come- no hidden enemy, no unseen threat; but sleep would refuse to come again for hours on end.

The murmurs would turn to sounds that almost became recognizable. She could just nearly place the patterns with the noises she heard just about every day. The flow of speech, the crash and screams of steel, cries of agony and the spilling of blood. These would excite her, and as times passed she came to look forward to these ragged shreds of some unknown reality that had, for reasons that escaped her and at the same time meant nothing to her, begun to drip into her subconsciousness. She almost felt that, if she reached out to these fragmented bits, she may be able to feel more of what they contained.

More and more of her nights were spent fighting to uncover this enigma and the riddles that they contained. It was a game and a war. She merrily and childishly poked, prodded and pulled at these things while simultaneously fighting to wrench their mysteries free from the bonds that resisted her manipulations each and every night. Her patterns of little sleep altered drastically to spending every night in questing slumber- consumed by her confusion and curiosity. It was aggravating how close she could come to tearing away the walls hiding the answers she sought to uncover.

As time passed this aggravation turned to hopelessness, and she resigned from her struggles, though the fragments remained. It seemed that _that_ had been the key all along. After calming her desires, the bits and pieces had begun to grow nearer of their own accord, guided by some unknown force and at long last goaded to disclose all they held within. Not all of it came at once, but night after night she learned what she what she had desired to know.

She came to a conclusion fairly quickly.

These visions had been sent to her by her master, for they were memories from the eyes of another. Visions from the mind of one who had once held aloft the cursed sword and wielded it to carve a path of bloody terror through antique lands. His name was forgotten, and his nightmare only a faint myth on the breath of time. He was lost. Or, so it had been believed. A thought that had never occurred to her, that she had never allowed herself to entertain, permeated in the back of her brain. It crept throughout her skull, spreading like a vile cancer that she refused to acknowledge until it had overcome even her greatest walls and defenses. For a horrid, agonizing second, Tira thought so herself, _Soul Edge might lose._

It struck her like a vicious blow, and took her literally to her knees. Her breath was stolen away by an evil wind and she felt as if she were about to throw up. Her body began to shake; wracked with weakness and sickness while realization dawned that, if Soul Edge had lost once before, then it could very well lose once again. She was horrified that such a thought had been birthed inside her own mind. She would have ordinarily punished herself for what she saw as wavering belief in her master, but a second revelation dawned on her in correlation with the first: _If Soul Edge loses this time, it may not be strong enough to keep its hold on Nightmare. It will need a new host, a more _permanent _host. Maybe.. maybe it's showing me an old host that I can bring to it in case it _does_ lose!_

Although terrified at the prospect of Soul Edge failing once again, she was also more elated than she had been in some time. Not only was this a new spark of hope for Soul Edge, but it also soothed her buried fears that she was not entirely trusted by her master. She did not even pause to consider how this man, who was lost to the world for unknown millennia, could be used as a host. He was likely dead; killed either by age or enemy. But those details did not matter. Her master was showing her a chance, and all she need do was wait until a time came when her orders were received. Soul Edge had not lost yet, and she would do all that was within her power to ensure that this man would not have to be sought out.

She worked herself mercilessly, not even requiring Nightmare's instructions to go about securing any and all necessary assets whilst neglecting her own needs – at this point she rarely needed orders for such an occurrence to transpire. All of who she was had been devoted to her master, and thus she would only make sure to do what was needed to stay alive and serve, anything else was a luxury that she could neither afford nor deserve (the extra hours of sleep she had gained whilst dealing with the onset of visions she justified as her master's will, otherwise she may not have been aware of a possible contingency).

The day when all would be decided did not take long to arrive. Warriors fell upon the city in droves, aiming to destroy or capture Soul Edge, or to seek their vengeance upon someone they knew would be nearby, for whatever reason. The greatest threats came from two knights. They clawed their way up toward Nightmare, seeking his destruction and the sword's. Any of the sword's servants – of those remaining – who barred their path were destroyed. Tira awaited them, prepared to die if necessary in order to protect her master. Of the two warriors, at least one was shocked to find that their final adversary, before the wicked blade itself, was a mere girl. She was cautious, primarily from the sight of Tira's weapon, and that wariness may have been what saved her life that day.

When they had entered the room, Tira's demeanor had been playful and bright as she brandished her sinister ring blade: Eiserne Drossel. She swayed to-and-fro to some silent rhythm as she looked them over in preparation to strike. One came bearing Soul Calibur. She eyed him with a childish pout, "Now why you gotta go and bring _that_ here?" She whined. "Don't ya know it's rude to disturb someone when they're eating?"

The woman took a slow step forward, her lance held defensively as she tried to read her opponent's unique weapon. Steeling her nerves and take a deep breath, she proclaimed, "We have no quarrel with you, so long as you step aside and hinder us not." She spoke with an air or authority about her. Her words and stance displayed unwavering bravery and resolve. This girl would not be swayed to leave through fear.

She would need to die.

Tira suppressed a giggle. "Oh, all righty, then." She lowered her weapon and stepped aside. Her eyes went to the ground where she kicked at the floor with her foot in the manner of a shamed child. The girl was momentarily stunned by Tira's response, and it was all the opening she needed. "You've _got _to be kidding me!" The assassin roared in a grating voice as she lunged toward the unprepared knight. Her advance was halted when she was forced to backtrack by the other warrior. The man wielding Soul Calibur had not been fooled, and brought the blade to bear with a mighty swing. Tira hissed in outrage at having the holy weapon so close, but recovered quickly and moved in on the offensive.

Her agility, coupled with her flexibility, made her an extremely lethal fighter. Few had ever witnessed her fighting style before, and this often gave her a marginal advantage over less-prepared opponents. These two, however, were quick learners, and well schooled in the art of combat. Though different from her own, they made due, and managed to wear her down. Their range and heavy armor made it hard to get in close, and even then to do any real damage. Yet, for every hit Tira managed to score she would receive more. Nothing serious, at least not fatal, but each cut and blow did its part in wearing her down.

She gave it her all, but in the end it was for naught. A successful swing from Siegfried caught her, and though Eiserne Drossel saved her life by keeping the edge of the blade from slicing her in half she was still sent violently into the wall. Her head cracked hard against the stone, and she was left sprawling on the floor in the void of unconsciousness. Her last conscious thoughts were Gloomy's maddened screams and Jolly's pitiful whining. Defeat was always a hard wound to bear.

She awoke in darkness, and for a time wondered if she was even awake at all. Slowly, very slowly, feeling began to return. Much to her misfortune this feeling came in the form of throbbing pain. It ebbed and flowed from the back of her skull, and from any wound large enough to register in scale. Later examination of her overall condition would reveal cuts on her face, arms, torso and legs. At least one of the lacerations on her cheek was from the edge of her very own beloved Eiserne Drossel. Dried rivulets and patches of ruddy crust remained around her scars, painting her body with odd splotches of color. She groaned in pain and weariness, wondering what had transpired since her disheartening defeat.

With hardened resolve, Tira forced her upper body to rise. Her arms quivered violently as they struggled to hold even her own body aloft. Her legs proved even more problematic. She kicked and struck at the floor- scrambling, even, to try and force herself up. Each time she would simply collapse back onto the floor, breathing labored and limbs in agony. The world before her swam in a dizzying display. It felt as if her body was remaining still, but all around her the world ran in a brilliant show of color. She swam into blackness, where not even the chaos of her conflicting mentalities came to the forefront. She was left, utterly alone, in pure darkness.

She wondered, for the moment that she could, if she had been swallowed up by Soul Edge.

Daylight came swiftly to her, mercilessly stabbing into her eyes from the moment she opened them. They were closed just as quickly, and she began rubbing at them harshly until the blinding pain had begun to fade. She was confused, hungry and cold. She could not remember much at the moment of awakening, and as she lay there curled into a pathetic little ball all the memories came flooding back. Both her dominant minds were in concurrence, and a rare moment of absolute clarity broke through the veil as she sat up and whispered in a parched voice, "Soul Edge!"

She jumped to her feet, ignoring the pain in her legs or the way her vision began to blur. She pushed it all aside and ran drunkenly up the stairs to the roof of the tower, leaving her weapon where it lay. She stopped at the final step, overlooking the tower's tip, chest heaving and lungs aching as wide, thirsty eyes drank in all around them. The adrenaline faded, but the aches, the dehydration and the sickness did not come. She stumbled up onto the stone tier in a daze as she tried to make sense of the scene that lay before her.

At the far side of the tower lay Nightmare. More accurately, the remains of what had once _been_ Nightmare. The armor was cracked and shattered, just as lifeless as it truly had been. Soul Edge was not with the shattered remnants of its previous wielder. She could feel it, though. As if hundreds of strings were tugging at her heart, she could feel where the fragments of her master's body lay.

She reached out tentatively for the helmet. The moment the tip of a single clawed finger touched the surface she was thrown back onto the ground, her mind filled with horrible visions. It was all in a haze, but she could see Nightmare fending off Siegfried and the girl who had helped him defeat her. He was weakened, and laboring. His movements were sluggish and weak, but still lethal. His body was riddled with cracks and holes. The warriors struck relentlessly, taking every opening they could find to wear away at Soul Edge's vessel. He bellowed in pain as more blows met his body, and it finally came to a point where he was on one knee, and barely supporting himself there. As Siegfried began to advance, doubtless to deliver a killing blow, Nightmare funneled all that remained of his once ungodly strength to stab at the sky with the cursed sword. Ragged breathing turned to a monstrous roar as Soul Edge came alight with cracks. The two offending fighters ducked quickly as the blade exploded, spreading the pieces of its body all over the world in a final, desperate attempt to preserve itself in any state.

Nightmare crumpled to the ground, a single hand holding him up. He stared defiantly at Siegfried as the shining knight approached, face calm and showing absolute control. Nightmare tensed, as if about to throw a punch at the man after whom he was based. However, it was for naught. Siegfried Schtauffen, once host to Soul Edge, plunged Soul Calibur through the wicked armor. The energy animating it finally dissipated, and the armor fell all to pieces. Tira was sucked back into reality to find herself lying on her back. The terrible vision had shaken her to her core, and she could only gasp painfully at air that felt as if it would not come. Her eyes, wide and dark with dismay, stared forlornly up at the sky. The sky that was all too blue and happy for the tragic state of the world around her.

Tira rolled her weight around, managing to right herself on the tower's top. A sharp pain clawed its way up her throat, and her eyes fell to the roof beneath her knees. She was sitting just before the helm that had once been Nightmare's head. Her bottom lip began to quiver as she took the broken, lifeless piece of azure metal into her hands and examined it more closely. She could feel the fading traces of Soul Edge's power within. As she stared into the hollow holes where flaming eyes had once burned, strong and terrible, a tear slithered down her cheek. She cradled the broken piece of armor in her lap and she began to weep tears of remorse for her master, for its no-more wielder and even for herself.

"W-Why?" She managed through suffocating sobs. She looked skyward, eyes shimmering as the morning sun caught them with its rays. "Why d-does it h-h-h-have to e-end this w-w-way?" Her head lolled to the front where it hung, limp as a rag doll's, as her tears continued to fall. She hugged the helmet tighter and whispered, "Why couldn't we just b-be happy? W-Why do we have to be alone?" Because she was alone, now. She had never been able to make it one her own, not once. Each time it only led her into the care of another, but when her desires to kill were not sated it would merely restart the cycle. She wept for her master and its broken vessel, and also for herself. Abandoned _again_. The sound of a raven's call, swift and harsh, woke something deep inside.

"No!" She growled, her head jerking violently to one side, eyes open wide and teeth barred in rage. "We can't just sit here drowning in our own sorrows! Our troubles don't matter, all that matters is that Soul Edge is whole again, right?" She asked in a very suggestive manner, as if it was the only truth with no other contenders.

Her shoulders sagged again, the tears returning in an instant. She struggled to speak as she gasped for air in the midst of her crying fit, "B-But what's the use?" The worlds bubbled from her lips, and she wiped her mouth with the back of her arm. "We keep losing, so what's the point in even trying anymore?" She looked sidelong to the tower's edge. "We should just throw ourselves to the birds. We'd be more useful as food."

Inwardly, Gloomy groaned, _And I thought _I _was supposed to be the miserable one!_

"Snap out of it!" She commanded, even going so far as to slap herself across the face. Her expression turned to shock and pain.

"W-What'd you go and do _that_ for?" Jolly mumbled, hanging her head again.

"I did it to try and get you to think, you idiot!" Gloomy snarled, clenching her hands into fists. "We have more important things to worry about, right now!"

"But N-Nightm-mare's d-d-dead, and S-S-S-S... Our master is gone, too!" She bawled, giving up halfway through her words. She lifted the helm again, looking sadly into its empty gaze. Gloomy took control, her expression twisting into frustration and malice. She made as if to sling the helmet from the tower top, but at the last second she changed her mind and merely tossed it to the stone. She watched it until it settled, and then spoke.

"Don't you remember?" She asked in as calm a tone as she could manage at the moment. "Master sent us visions. Visions of a _host_!" She reminded in a slow, informing tone.

Jolly's expression brightened a little, "O-Oh, yeah! B-But h-h-how do we f-find him?"

Gloomy rolled her eyes and sighed, "Concentrate, you moron!" She barked. Jolly almost started sulking more, but in order to suppress Gloomy's rage she closed her eyes and felt at the trails of energy- Soul Edge's energy. Lead after lead felt like mere fragments, but finally she found one that was stronger. _Much_ stronger, in fact. It felt like a fragment _and_ a host. "And even if we can't find him, we can always bring the fragments back together- bring Soul Edge back to full strength until we _can_ find a host!"

Jolly's mood began to improve at an alarming rate, "Yeah! Like that goody-goody Sophitia's daughter!" Wiping at her eyes, she seemed about to pout at the memory of the woman who had caused so much trouble for her master in the past. "It'd be beautiful to see her destroyed by her very own '_pwecious wittle_' Pyrrha. Wouldn't it, Gloomy?" She asked, eyes drifting off lazily in a daze. Her voice had bounced around in a sing-song manner, and Gloomy concluded with a bit of satisfaction that Jolly had, indeed, recovered from her mourning phase.

Gloomy snickered at the thought, envisioning Sophitia pleading in heartbreak as her beloved daughter, sometime in the future, advanced with Soul Edge in hand, her lips twisted in vicious glee as she began to cut and pierce; lavishing in every scream she could produce from her mother's mouth; mocking her with spiteful lies and twisted words. For all that blasted wench had done to Soul Edge, Sophitia would receive in tenfold. In the end, she would only be a ragged memory of a human body. It would, indeed, be a most _exquisite_ moment.

Shaking herself free of the exciting shivers, Tira tried to stand. Her legs wobbled like jelly, but held in the end. There was so much that needed to be done that Tira was nowhere near sure what to do first. Should she do something about her wounds? Would that be too much doting on herself, though? There _were_ more important things that needed taking care of, after all. But, she needed to be able to go out and find this new host, and she had to be sure she could handle any surprise threats. She knew all too well how dark the world could be, and she could not place herself in a position that would jeopardize Soul Edge's revival.

She was caught in a moment of indecision. The alien sensation of independence shivered up her spine and into the back of her brain, spreading like a cold fog across her mind. She froze, unable to lay out her course of action. Up to now, any autonomy she had experienced had all been in direct correlation to something Soul Edge had set up for her to do, and little was actually original thought or decision. Brief moments such as this had overcome her in the past, but none quite so bad as this. She had been broken, not just in twain, but to the sword's will.

That was all Soul Edge really was, poetically. Pure, unfathomable willpower. More than enough to make up for the vast amounts she lacked. Sometimes it seemed that maybe that was all she really needed: someone to tell her what to do. This made her angry, and that brought Gloomy to bear, "We're not helpless, what am I doing?" She pressed her hands to her head, shaking herself violently to clear away the dust and cobwebs from her brain. "I don't need to be led along by my hand like some defenseless little girl!"

Jolly blinked, her head drooping to one side, "Huh?"

Gloomy's throaty cry of frustration had nearby flocks of ravens scattering fitfully, "You, on the other hand, might be an exception," she growled. Her march of determination was interrupted by her legs nearly giving out under her. She wavered for a moment, and then fell hard onto her backside.

"Ow," Jolly murmured sullenly. "That hurt, Gloomy! You should be more careful where you-"

"Shut up!" Gloomy snapped, biting back the bulk of her wrath. She did _not_ need Jolly in tears again, especially over something as stupid as one of their quarrels. She preferred her other half when she was in a killing mood, and not weighed down by her emotions like she so often seemed to be when there was nothing else to entrap her attention.

"Hey, Glooms?" Jolly mumbled, her eyes bouncing 'round like a feather on the wind, never stopping long enough to focus on any one thing to take anything in.

A sigh answered, followed by, "What?" Her tone was kinder than it had been before, probably because she knew what thought her counterpart wanted to give voice to. Sometimes this was how it had to be. Some things were so frightening to consider that the only way Tira could even recognize the fear itself was to acknowledge its existence, and that usually meant aloud.

"What if we can't bring the pieces back together?" These first words had come slowly, and shakily, but her tone shifted to panic as more began to come. "What if something terrible happens, a-and someone destroys Soul Edge f-for g-"

"That's impossible!" Tira silenced herself, her voice evening out, neither extreme holding the reigns for the moment. The chaos seemed to settle, and she spoke- as herself, to herself, "Soul Edge was broken before, and it came back together. It's always come back together. This time _won't_ be any different." Her voice began to grate, her eyes darkening as the signs of an impending storm on the horizon. "We won't let it happen," those last words were growled; scraping their way up her throat and past her lips. The brief moment of clarity – of unity – had passed, as one always would after managing to surface.

She mulled over those words, feeling the full force of her collective conviction rising like a tidal wave. It rushed through her, lifting her to her feet and carrying her against the swells of pain that threatened to knock her down again. Though she still had yet to decide what to do, first. Part of her did not want to waste time, and wanted to set out in her current condition, damning fate and its cruelty. However, her other half pleaded at least for some food and water, first. Tira paused mid-step in the crux of a psychological explosion of conflicting interests. Her hesitation only lasted but a moment, with Gloomy relenting to Jolly's entreaties in the end.

Despite handing over control to her more carefree side, impatience managed to seep out from within, and her hands trembled with anticipation as she handled what food she could find in the castle. She could feel the trails of dark energy tugging for her to come. Like fingers they plucked, unseen, at her brain, and she almost thought she could hear them speak. But one in particular drew her attention the most: the line that would lead her to this former host.

Excitement and anxiety are the only words to describe what she felt at that moment. In her muddied state she nearly choked on a mouthful of meat, only to be pulled back to reality to be reminded of her current state. Curiously, she set out to find a mirror. Her appearance was not usually something she bothered herself about, but after her battle with the knights she began to wonder just what the damage done truly was. Tira was so little aware of her own needs and state that, just every now and then, she would yearn to be reminded of her own face, and sometimes to be surprised by the alterations made since the last time she had troubled to check, which she could scarcely remember either way. This would turn out to be one of those times where she was surprised, even if only a little.

Cuts, scars and bruises mottled her face, made worse by dried blood. Her gauntlets clattered to the floor, rolling away to shadowed crannies. She paid the noise no mind, nor to where her armor went, and raised tentative hands to her flesh. She felt along her face, tracing the swollen lines and dark splotches of busted vessels. Her fingers twitched at every sting, but their journey never slowed or ceased. She could tell which wounds would remain, and some small part of her lamented at just how many of these scars would now mar her face long after they had healed.

Looking down, she realized that in her hurry she had spilled water on herself, and the caked blood on her abdomen had begun to run like dye from around her wounds. As she inspected all the wounds and welts she found herself overtaken by an alien sensation, and minutes later she jumped, naked, into the waters by the castle. The cold water shocked her, but she steeled herself against the chill. She wanted the blood gone, for whatever reason she could not fathom. She just wanted it somewhere else and not on her. Blood had never bothered her, whether it was her own or another's.

Especially the latter.

She lingered in the drink for a time, watching bubbles race by her eyes in a state of serenity she had never quite known before. Perhaps, she wondered, she should just wait until all the bubbles had gone, and then some. She could go back into that warm darkness, and stay there for eternity, casting all obligation and turmoil to the deep and never needing to stir forevermore.

Gloomy, as it would, seized abrupt control and kicked viciously to bring herself to the surface. When her head broke the glassy surface her first instinct was all too human: she sucked in deep, satisfying lung-fulls of air. For a moment she considered holding _herself_ under as punishment for even _considering_ throwing away her duties to her master. Such thoughts were unbecoming of Soul Edge's vassal, and would not be tolerated more than once- if not by her master, than by her own self. Someone would have to keep her in order while her master awaited revival, would they not? And who better to keep her in check than herself, who knew her better than anyone else?

Yes. Yes, that would do.

She rested in the water shortly, calmed by the gentle lapping of the tiny waves. But eventually she was reminded of what she had to do, and crawled out of the cold into the cold. _It's freezing out here, Gloomy! You could have just drawn a bath inside where it was warm if ya wanted to-_

"I didn't do that, dammit!" Tira barked, at a loss for why she had wanted to clean herself so terribly. It unnerved her, that she could have so little control over herself as to simply act on random impulse. Broken though she was, Tira usually put at least some thought into what she did before going through with it. Jolly could not respond to such a claim, and retreated further back into the confines of chaos, leaving Gloomy dominant as she did more and more those days.

Could it be she was losing total control over herself?

Was it possible that she had become so dependent on an outside control that without a guiding force she would begin to break down from turmoil into void? Or was it, perhaps, that somehow the two entities of Jolly and Gloomy were soon to be replaced by two different psyches, just now forming from the wasteland buried inside Tira's head?

Tira focused on her goal, envisioning it in her mind. She remembered the dreams her master sent her, she recalled the intention she had gathered from the memories. She had to bring Soul Edge back to full strength, but first she had to seek out this host so that her master might have a vessel through which to walk. Her obligation was to the sword, and therefore to the vessel.

Her obligation was to the sword, and therefore to the vessel.

Her obligation was to the sword, and therefore to the vessel.

Her obligation was to the sword, and therefore to the vessel.

Her obligation was to the sword, and therefore to the vessel.

Her obligation was to the sword, and therefore to the vessel.

Her obligation was to the sword, and therefore to the vessel.

"My obligation is to the sword, and therefore to the vessel," she had not even realized that the thoughts had turned to words, but the moment that her voice had reached her ears she stopped; exhausted by the spiral of events that had taken all she had known up to then and blown them apart with the ease of scattering leaves. She was tired. She was sore. Her belly was full, and for now she had slaked her thirst. She returned to the castle where she collapsed in an old, ratty bed to sleep. When she woke, she whispered to herself, then she would depart. She had work to do, but it could wait for a few hours more, at least.

At least.

_AN: Is it just me or does this feel rushed?_


End file.
